You Are a Ranger
by Luvergirl of Books
Summary: You are what you do. When somebody belittles that, what do you have left for your self-image? That degradation penetrates your minds, colors your every thought, haunts your waking dreams-until you do something about it. And when Crowley comes face-to-face with accusation, what does he do?


**A/N:** well, as I said in my profile, I have officially started school. ...Puke. I'm happy to see everyone again, it's just that other stuff that I'm not too crazy about. :)

So, due to the fact that I most likely won't be on here as much, I've decided to give y'all a little treat a bit earlier than I had intended, and upload another oneshot. And to the reviewers of my other stories, thanks _so_ much, all y'all's time is really appreciated.

Near to the hustle and bustle of the crowds in the marketplace of Araluen fief, Ranger Corps Commandant Crowley slunk across the gravel walkways, instinctively not making a sound. He was meeting Sir David at the far edge of the square, but, as of now, felt entirely out of his element. This was much too crowded a place for a Ranger to be in the midst of—even for one as socially comfortable as Crowley.

While Crowley was keeping an eye on the produce booth, due to a worn looking man creeping slowly and sneakily towards it, he ran full-length into another man walking the footway.

"Pardon me, sir," Crowley said politely; after all, he hadn't been watching where he was going.

The man glowered menacingly. "Watch where you put your clumsy, arrogant feet, Ranger," he growled.

Crowley frowned. "Watch yourself, sir, you are treading in territory that shouldn't be tested."

Here in Araluen fief, the capital fief of the country, Ranger kind was somewhat less feared than in other fiefs. Being this close to where the King resides, common villagers and townsfolk knew a bit more truth about the intelligence force then others, but the occasional rumors were carelessly tossed in.

Therefore, people here were slightly less likely to cower in fright in a Ranger's presence.

"You don't go talking to me like that; you've nothing to be proud of, you have no real right over me," the man slandered. "You, your entire kind are sneakers! You cower inside those colored cloaks of yours. You veil yourselves behind the barking great longbows, the ugly little leather-hilt knives. There is no dignity or chivalry in your falsifying documents, in seeking the shadows for a place to sneak up on the unsuspecting people!" To punctuate his point, he added a slight shove to Crowley's shoulders.

"Those weapons that your kind carry sure are_ something to behold_," the man sneered sarcastically. "They are weapons for great distances, hardly adequate at all for close range. You fight one-sided battles, giving no one the slightest chance!"

"Do you carry the lives of twenty-four men at your quiver? Do you think that? I think it goes further than that! Just think of all the people you have _murdered_." He spat out the word like a curse. "It's by no means limited to twenty-four, _I think not_!

"Think back to every person that you have killed with that longbow of yours, those knives. There were families of theirs that loved them and still do! There was innocence in them, there was! Some were of it totally pure!"

The Ranger drew a breath to speak back, but was unable to get a word in edgewise.

"You prowl and hide around with your little _Corps_, slinking around, you and that band of misfits! You're all misfits, each and every one of you; you simply gathered together to spread all of the madness! Dabbling in the likes of your special brand of trademark black magic, every one of you!" The glare and leering mouth created an almost palpable sense of aggression.

"You are a coward, you are a sneak, you are a non-chivalrous soul, you are the walking scum of the earth; you are a _Ranger_."

However, before Crowley could respond, a booming voice called out from behind him. "Crowley!"

The Ranger turned to face Sir David, who was about twenty meters back, unaware of the words that had passed through the other man's mouth. "Good to see you, Crowley! So glad you could make it so early. Let's talk, shall we?" And with that, the Ranger took one last look at the man who had belittled him so, and strode to Sir David.

* * *

The sun shone brilliantly in the mid-afternoon sky, the calls of numerous birds twittered exuberantly in the air; but Crowley's mood was dark. Even after the get-together with Sir David, the Ranger Commandant's thoughts were settled on the man with the soulless blue eyes, the brown-but-graying hair, the thin features.

The man who had publicly blasphemed and scorned the entire Ranger Corps—and Crowley himself.

With his contemplation in a foul place, the Ranger immediately noticed when said man walked clear of a small crowd, into the open and further away from the masses with every step.

Determination set in firm lines on his brow, Crowley bent his head low and brusquely strode to meet the man. Ignorant of the Ranger's presence due to the practical invisibility and silence of his gait, the man started violently as Crowley put the whipcord strength of his well-muscled forearms to good use, easily lifting the thin man clear off the ground by the scruff of his jacket.

With a hearty thrust, his feet contacted with the ground again, barely able to prevent himself from falling backwards onto the walkway. Just as his balance was once again regained, he felt a hand on the front of his collar, dragging him toward his assailant. He stared into those dark, fiery eyes of the sandy-haired Ranger he had seen earlier that day, and chose the wisest course of action—silence.

Crowley's tone dripped with contempt. "You, sir, had no right to speak to me that way," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I _am_ a sneaker; we lay in wait for our duty to come to hold. Our cloaks shield us from prying eyes as we uphold the King's law, the law of Araluen.

"We place our faith not only in our longbows and knives, but in the accuracy with which we wield them." He pulled the man closer to his face. "For your information, by seeking out the unsuspecting criminals and brigands, we prevent other, innocent people from getting in harm's way. We make _official _documents, to ensure peace with other countries, and within our own."

Grasping even better purchase on the man's collar, Crowley lifted him up and almost immediately slammed him back down again. The Ranger kept a good hold of the jacket, preventing him from falling to the ground and, likewise, from subsiding from his eye contact. "Our weapons _are indeed_ something to behold!" he snarled. "The bows are the best made, from the strongest, most flexible yew wood around. The knives are better made than any that the likes of _you_ would ever carry; they would blunt a sword to uselessness, and barely leave a nick on the knife's blade!

"In using long-range weapons, we prevent injuring those who we don't mean to injure. And do we want to be killed ourselves? _I think not_!" he said, echoing the man's words of earlier, but now soaked with much more hostility than before.

"Do we practice our black magic? That is for _you_ to worry about, fretting into the night, hoping against _hope_ that this is the only punishment I'll give you; that I won't seal you up inside a great oak! Do we carry the lives of twenty-four men in our quivers? Oh yes, you can say that, that and many more! Lives of men who have betrayed the kingdom, our proud country, and traitors to the King himself!

"We as a group stick together, for none but us know our _true ways_, for each of us has a story to share within our Corps, for each and every one of us is _family_ for each other! Call us misfits, call us unique, call us whatever you want. We don't care. We get together to share our knowledge; we inform each other of what is out there in this mad thing we call life."

Crowley shoved the man backwards, and he fell to the ground, graying brown hair tousled. "I am a child of the night, I am the silent stalker, I am of my own chivalry and loyalties. I am a protector of the kingdom and our fellow compatriots, I do what I must to fulfill my trusts, I am the hunter of the walking scum of the Earth.

"I am a Ranger."

And with that, Crowley, Commandant of the Araluen Ranger Corps intelligence force, left the man with the soulless blue eyes and brown-gray hair to his own devices. Instantaneously, he resolutely strode off to do his job; the job of the Rangers.

_Finis_

* * *

**A/N:** Bam! Way to go, Crowley! Now, I know that this man never would have gotten away with that from the beginning; but hey, it gave us a story! And reviews are always appreciated: tell me what you thought!


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